


Chronicle

by kuro49



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Multi, Pseudo-Incest, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-27
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-05-23 14:01:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6118615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuro49/pseuds/kuro49
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mako has a plan. Herc sets it into motion. Stacker doesn’t see this coming.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chronicle

**Author's Note:**

> Frankly, still here for the OT3s that no one else ever asked for (except for strikerbelle but she is my church buddy). 
> 
> This is the guiltless one where I handwaved the buildup just because I wanted to get to the porn.

To begin, he doesn’t go back to Trespasser.

Or even Scissure.

To begin, Hercules Hansen goes back to the start of those glory days. Where his damn body is still carrying the scars from those early glitches in those prototype drive suits that pinch and singe when the wires come loose more often than not.

To begin, he lets the man go to his knees before him like he is in worship. But he is neither a man of God or one with a prayer on his tongue. Instead, the man is looking up at him like he is looking for a challenge down there. Stacker Pentecost is a hard man to impress, Herc can only hope he holds up to scrutiny at such close proximity.

The concrete here at the makeshift Academy on Kodiak Island is probably cold on Stacker’s knees but neither one of their personal quarters is a place fit for this.

Tamsin will have a field day, Scott might do worse if he walks in, and this is not including a single thing the two of them will catch in the drift.  An early rule to establish between drift partners is that you get immunity for what shows up in blue.

Anything else that might have followed goes out in white noise inside of Herc’s head when his zipper is dragged down between Stacker’s teeth.

 

The concrete here in the Sydney Shatterdome is cool in place of cold.

This is a fact that becomes relevant in due time.

Before that, Stacker Pentecost is standing next to Hercules Hansen, the line of his jaw tight at the way his oldest friend finds his adopted daughter from across the Jaeger Bay. Mako hasn’t been back since Striker’s launch. Stacker hasn’t been back since before that. Herc waves, caring very little for who can see the way he smiles, too wide and probably too bright, at seeing her in his corner of the Pacific Rim.

It is not quite a blue moon but it comes close.

“Marshal.” She has her clipboard clutched to her chest, careful to approach them only when their menial conversation on technicalities draws to an end. She nods at them, a sway of blue against her jaw. “Ranger Hansen.”

Mako is off.

That much he can tell even when distracted isn’t entirely the right word to describe it. Stacker returns her nod with a dip of his chin whereas Herc’s smile only draws into a grin.

“’s been a while, Miss Mori.”

Stacker isn’t a stupid man.

But for once, he can say that he did not see this coming. He should, he doesn't. Mako spent a long time down here working on Striker before the launch. Herc spent a lot of time up at the Academy during his temporary switch in partners right after Lucky.

Stacker exercises his control with what is probably not ease at all when he forces himself to school in his expression and steps away.  It isn’t until he is walking away, leaving the two of them still standing in place at Striker’s foot, that he places exactly what is thrumming just beneath Mako’s skin at the sight of Herc.

It is anticipation.

The right question is _for what?_

(And, it hits him.

Not unlike the slam of a Category II making a sizable dent in the alloy metal. It knocks the breath out from his chest. Not unlike the sight of the two of them together, standing there like it is the most normal thing.)

Stacker doesn’t see the next one coming either.

 

When it comes to her, he never lies.

So when she sits up in his bed and asks him this, Herc is hardly about to start.

“Do you still think about sensei like you think about me?”

He turns over to his good side with a slight wince. He may be buying himself some time. He may be trying to null the pain of his bruised ribs from Striker’s last kill. Whichever reason it may be, he is taking the time to turn to her and this is still that same cot that barely fits one to begin with.

“I try not to.”

Mako is sitting at the edge of his bed, turning her clothes right side out.

She is no stranger to the idea of the two of them, the Marshal and his right hand man. They called it the glory days for a reason. Even if there are more dead than alive, there is still no tighter knit of Rangers in the PPDC than those that piloted the Mark Is.

And Mako Mori can respect that.

He is one of the longest standing Jaeger jockey of the Corps. His brain is a scramble of more than his fair share of men and women going through and gone. Hercules Hansen has to wonder whether this is a trick question or two to start with. He has to wonder if it is fair for her to ask at all.

Even Mako has to think it isn’t, especially when he panics in the silence and adds in a rush, his hand already seeking out hers like its reflex.

“I can try harder.”

In her lap, one leg of her pants is still inside out.

He is a Ranger. He is a Ranger.

She is not.

Atop the sheets, her fingers lace with his. She bites the inside of her cheeks before she gives him an answer, her pause has him levelling her with a glance that tells her he might have an inkling.

“I’d really rather you did not, Ranger.”

 

He has an idea.

She has a plan.

And it includes them both.

 

To start, Mako and Herc can count on one hand the number of their encounters.

Borrowed time in ‘domes across the Pacific Rim, narrow bunks and narrower supply closets tucked out of the way from the Jaeger Bay. Stolen moments in the Academy where she finds him in the communal showers after he has plummeted a brand new class of prospective-Rangers into the Kwoon mats.

It is always a little bit rushed, a little bit rough.

How it starts, she has always been fond of him. (It is mutual but a man who is older than her adopted father does not get to admit that on the first, or even second, date.) How it starts, it is hardly a love story when they are two lonely people who find that they are physically compatible in bed. It is probably not romantic, but it doesn't have to be.

It does become that, though.

It is thrilling on the days when they aren’t forced to think about how many more months it will be until they see each other next. They never do spend enough time together for pillow talk. They barely have enough to spare for dirty talk when the sight of the other is more than enough.

To start, they don’t go back nearly as far back as they would like. But maybe that is a good thing, he needs to have history with him first to make this the story that it is.

“You’re not his little girl.”

It is probably not his place to say anything at all. But he sees the way his old friend looks to this girl he has his arms around, and _familial_ is nowhere close to the word he would use to describe it.

She turns to look at him, almost assessing.

“And if I want to be?”

Jealousy is as far as the furthest thing Herc feels.

“You’re asking the wrong bloke then.”

 

Neither one of them are here on a social visit.

He is a Ranger. He used to be one. She is not.

(She will become one before the war is won but that is something else all together. This comes before that, this comes _long_ before that.)

The Marshal of the Sydney ‘dome steps out, leaving the two of them standing at the back of LOCCENT. They have more important things to deal with, far more important things to discuss.

But.

“That’s my adopted d—”

Herc cuts him off before the man can finish his sentence, before he can sink the knife in and twist it too. “Don’t disservice Mako like that, Stacker.”

And Stacker has to wonder how long this has been going on. His best friend and his— Stacker decides he can cut himself off at this. Even from across the Jaeger Bay or up here in the fishbowl where they can see everything, he finds Mako elbows-deep inside of the Mark V machinery.

Herc’s girl has a lot to teach. But in comparison, even in the rough blue canvas of her flight suit, Mako is by far the prettier one yet. And Herc never misses the chance to tell her just that when he passes by: _Hello, pretty girl_.

Stacker can still remember the little girl that finds him in the remains of Tokyo. What Onibaba destroyed, Coyote Tango barely only managed to salvage. She saves him. He doesn’t want to be the one to wreck this with his own two hands.

“Who is she to me then?” _If not a surrogate daughter_.

Stacker Pentecost is not at all one to speak in hushed tones but he has no intention of having anyone else listen in on something like this. Herc looks at him and Stacker has no idea what his old friend is thinking. Herc isn’t one for words that aren’t a couple of defiant comments spoken in the company of his own crew and a few selected singular words of compliance muttered at the face of the UN. Herc is a man who knows how the bigger game is played.

He is one who would rather keep the ripples to a minimum.

(She is too until she can make the biggest wave to knock the Kaiju back where they come from. Those fifty-two drops, fifty-two kills are only an indication as to what she is capable of.

If only.

If only there is more time.)

Instead of telling Stacker what he probably wants to hear, no matter what fraction of the truth it makes up: _She is not a little girl._ Herc pretends he doesn’t hear him and says.

“Let’s have dinner together.”

 

She has a plan.

He sets it into motion.

And he, well, he doesn’t see it coming until.

 

The concrete here in the Sydney Shatterdome is cool in place of cold.

This is a fact that becomes relevant.

Dinner out of the mess hall is a different kind of affair. The table is far smaller, the atmosphere is much quieter, and when the knocking at the door comes, Herc is looking expectantly at Stacker like the other man is supposed to be playing host instead of the other way around.

“You’re thinking too loud.”

Stacker gets up from the table, eyes narrowed and it is no mistake on either one of their parts when the motion has him knocking knees with the Australian man sitting across from him.

“And you don’t think at all, Herc.”

The man is laughing, that low tumbling sound that Stacker can honestly admit to missing. Sydney is a long way from Kodiak Island after all. The glory days has been a long time ago.

“…We were hoping thinking isn’t going to happen at all.”

It is probably not meant as a warning when it comes out of Herc’s mouth. It only sounds a lot like one when Stacker stops short. By then, it is already far too late. The door pulls open. The hinges whine to a creaking stop.

“Evening, sensei.”

The blue ends in her hair look especially bright in the harsh fluorescent lights of the ‘dome halls.

 

Stacker Pentecost doesn’t see this coming.

He also doesn’t see this happening any other way.

There is a choice. There is also a series of choices that led to this one. And then, there is also another set of choices that doesn’t but that is neither here nor now where the concrete is cool in place of cold when they press him back into it.

His back hits the concrete wall of Herc’s quarters.

It is distinctly not cold like the Academy or the Icebox. But that might have a lot more to do with the two people crowding him against it. It is warm when their hands strip him out of his dress shirt, her fingers undoing each button, his hands tugging the shirt ends from his pants, damn class ring almost getting caught.

His mouth collides with his.

“’s been a while, Marshal.”

An answer might have been _‘s been long enough_ if she isn’t already on him, bringing him down to her height with a hand curled around the back of his neck for a turn.

Mako stops shy with barely an inch between them, and she is already breathing him in. If it is permission she is asking for, it is _yes_ that Stacker doesn’t say as he touches his mouth to hers.

Herc, he knows. Herc, he has tasted before, has taken to bed enough times to know what he sounds like in the dark of another barren, utilitarian room. It might have been _years_ but a lot of it is muscle memory.

Her, he has no idea.

Her, he has never once allowed himself the luxury of thinking he could have her too.

He makes his choice.

She meets him head on.

 

Mako has always been much too good at making plans.

Herc has always been more than happy to do all the dirty work.

She thinks she is making a pretty clear point when she joins them after dinner. She isn’t dessert but she is hoping they are hers.

To begin, it is a torch that burns and burns between him and him. It is one that still hasn’t gone out now.

She is counting that it doesn’t.

In their combined efforts, they strip him out of his suit. His cufflinks sit at the edge of the table, next to their empty trays of mess food. Then the tie goes next, the knot hers to undo, the yank of it from under the collars Herc’s to do.

She drapes his dress shirt over one of the two chairs in the room. Mako is meticulous like Stacker is.

Slow to approach when she presses her chest against his back, pressing her mouth against the nape of his neck. She doesn’t say anything for fear of jostling what they have balanced precariously here. She isn’t against pulling back at the slightest waver in her sensei’s decision. She is in nothing but a pair of panties and a tank top, her pants left in a pool at her ankles as she steps out of them. Herc isn’t far off, his shirt gone, his pants riding low.

They do not ask him if he wants this. They aren’t so love-fooled that they cannot tell. He wants them. He has wanted them a long time now.

“The bed will be a tight fit.”

Stacker says, between them, like that is what should be their first concern.

“I am flexible.”

Herc is not half as embarrassed as he probably should be but Stacker has seen him at his worst (he was there when _Scott_ happened) and Mako has seen him in every position possible (and then some, a relationship like theirs take a lot of creativity).

Mako lets out a soft huff against Stacker’s bare shoulder.

The other two men know a laugh when they hear one.

“We will fit.”

She tells them.

They know better than to doubt her.

 

When Stacker lines up and sinks into her, she drags her nails down Herc's chest with a sigh.

Stark white lines blooming red against the scatter of freckles. Her mouth is parted into a perfect circle as Stacker closes a hand around her hip, dragging her back against him, pushing that much deeper inside of her.

He is not rough with her, not this first time, and it will probably take some convincing the next time but these two in this bed with him is nothing if not a team.

From behind, Stacker bears his weight down on her, gets her rocking down against Herc with his legs spread wide enough to fit her between them. His precum smears across her stomach, her slick leaves the inside of her thighs wet.

“ _More_.”

She asks.

And they comply.

Herc dips his head to kiss her a little harder, trading one with Stacker in between before he is reaching out to yank the man closer by the forearm. His strength gets Mako gasping into his mouth, Stacker letting out an answering rasp of what could be her name and his name all combined into one guttural noise that is more than anything Herc has ever managed to get out of him alone.

It is softer and louder and _hungry_.

Mako isn’t the only one asking for more if Herc still remembers Stacker’s tells.

In between the pull and the push and the _shoves_ , she is inching towards a release that starts low and heated and keeps her knees weak beneath her. It is not the two of them that keeps her up, it is the two of them keeping her still in between them.

(That when Mako comes and Stacker does too, he is pulling out to fit Herc in his place. It is probably too much and Stacker has no idea if she likes it like this but Herc is telling him _yes_ with a hand against her lower back that is all too encouraging.

Stacker has a hard time looking away at the sight of Mako sinking down inch by inch. How Herc is spreading her wide, if this is how it looks when he is bottoming out all the way inside of her and if Herc would look differently when he is split open on his cock.

A whine from between her lips leaves her entire body shaking, her hand reaching back to hold him tight. Like she wants to make sure her sensei is still here with her.

Her first climax of the night is turned into a second with Herc fucking up into her.

Stacker has a hard time keeping his hand still when he can drag it up from her hip to palm her breast. Her breathing has her heaving, her head tipped back to take gulps of air. His fingers pinch at a nipple and she almost keens.

Back arching, spine taut with tension. 

“Do that again, sensei.”

That last word is said almost in silence.

Herc smiles against her skin and tells Stacker exactly what she meant when everything sounds a little bit like a plead.

“Pretty girl likes it harder.”

Stacker glances down at the profile of his girl. It is hard to reconcile with the fact that his signature is on her adoption papers when he is seeing the dark strands stick to her forehead with sweat. Even harder still when every swallow has his eyes tracking how her throat shifts beneath the hand he splays across her jaw so he can kiss her right. “…Does she now?”

He asks, a murmur against her mouth, but he doesn’t expect an answer.

He already knows.

Stacker doesn’t hold back after that.)

 

To begin, this is really as good as any other place to stop.


End file.
